


Two Sides

by queensusan



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bukkake, Dirty Talk, Falling In Love, Fix-It, Library Sex, M/M, Master/Servant, Rimming, Seriously graphic pornography, Size Difference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2018-04-08 03:36:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4289229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queensusan/pseuds/queensusan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A naughty little part of me wanted to dishevel Gilbert Norrell in every lewd way imaginable, and John Childermass seemed up to the job.  (turned out he was REALLY up to the job)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This pairing has been written before by writers so wonderful it made me actually consider and fall in love with this pairing. The delightful Eddie Marsan also portrayed Norrell with such sensitivity and humanity that it further made me consider the possibility of these two characters together. And then I went and wrote filthy, graphic pornography for it. Ooops...

Gilbert had been uncomfortable from the moment his eager ears had pricked up at the sound of hooves clattering up the drive of Hurtfew Abbey. What had begun as an excited tightness in his groin had magnified to a firmness the likes of which wouldn't be uncommon on a lusty farmhand, but was rather disconcerting on a mild mannered, bookish scholar. By the time Childermass had swept into his library, Gilbert was squirming in his seat and had to place his book down hastily onto his lap to hide his arousal.

Childermass still wore his traveling cloak and his ragged hair was tangled and windswept around his face, hanging in thick clumps. His beard was longer than usual and untamed, reminding Gilbert how long it had been since Childermass had left him in search of the rumor of a book.

“Well?” he asked eagerly, but Childermass only stalked into the room, removing his traveling cloak as he walked, having clearly not even stopped to change before coming to his master. As he should.

“It's as I suspected,” Childermass said in his gruff, familiar voice. “If there was a book of magic on that farm it has long since been turned into compost, ripped and eaten out by small children, or used to wipe the backside of the farmer's wife.”

Gilbert slumped back in his seat in disappointment, but wasn't so disconcerted he forgot to shoot Childermass a quelling glance. “Childermass, really,” he protested, as disapproving and mild as a maiden aunt.

Childermass leaned his hip against the desk Gilbert was seated at and smiled lazily. Such an insolent smirk, his man of business had! It made his insides flutter in distaste and... something else. Childermass said nothing, only watched him with dark eyes, his eyes traveling up Gilbert's body so boldly it felt like the stroke of his hand. Gilbert's breath picked up and he dropped his eyes, trying to remain composed even as his prick did its best to drill a hole through James White's _Hailing Time_. 

Childermass let the silence draw out, somehow filling up the stillness with his presence alone. It hadn't been a very promising rumor, nor a very exciting book, but Norrell had had to be sure... Now that he was, there was nothing to distract him from the sound of Childermass' composed breaths, of the heat he could almost swear he could feel rising off of Childermass' body like a wave.

Gilbert was so tightly strung that by the time Childermass shifted against the desk he squeaked softly and jumped in his seat. His eyes flew up to Childermass and he found him, if possible, looking at him even more darkly, more menacingly. With a casual grace that Gilbert wouldn't have been able to emulate if his entire library were on the line, Childermass lifted an arm and with a single finger tipped up _Hailing Time_ far enough to get a look at what was underneath. Gilbert's hands flew up to grip the armrests of his chair, his little fingers digging divots in the velvet padded upholstery and the skin around his neatly trimmed fingernails going white. He let out a sound that would later torture him with shame.

“I see,” Childermass purred, and Gilbert tossed his head back and his hips quivered with the need to thrust up, seeking his servant's hand. Disappointingly, Childermass let the book drop, and the sudden contact with his prick made him gasp raggedly and jolt in his chair. His hand ached to grab himself, but Gilbert knew the rules, and held himself still.

“You haven't been taking care of yourself, sir,” Childermass said, drawing closer still until his strong legs pressed against Gilbert's knees. His hand came up to briefly touch Gilbert's cheek, then drifted lower, dragging down his front in a way that made Gilbert lose his breath. “Every time I leave I come back and find you in such a state...” he continued thoughtfully, pressing his fingertips against the book and rocking it enticingly against Gilbert's prick before drawing up again. “Do you forget you have a body that must be nurtured?” he asked, caressing a hand against Gilbert's still comfortably soft middle, and shaking his head disapprovingly to find it perhaps slightly leaner.

Gilbert wriggled and bit back what, horribly, might have become a giggle if he hadn't been careful. He arched away from the hand tickling his belly. “I-I perhaps forget to take my tea when I'm so en-engrossed in my studies. A t-time or two,” he admitted, knowing many times his tea had gone cold and his biscuits dry before he'd even noticed or been interested in them, with unlimited uninterrupted time to study. 

Childermass made a patronizing 'tsking' sound with his tongue and teeth. But that wasn't the worst of it, oh no. His hand fell again to the book and now Childermass pressed down with purpose. “And this? Did you forget about this while I was gone?” 

Gilbert's mind went blank and he became consumed by sensation, a novelty that happened only when Childermass laid hands on him. Childermass made an impatient noise, and Gilbert opened his mouth to reply, but only a moan issued out when Childermass began to roll the book over him rhythmically. Even through the layers of underclothing and breeches, Gilbert's cock rode the crease of the book like a boat on a choppy sea. He couldn't control his hips now; he was thrusting unashamedly against the book and the pressure of Childermass' hand. He could feel his release gathering deep in his hips and his abdomen.

“Ch-ilder _mass_ ,” Gilbert groaned in wavering cry, but was only rewarded by a cessation of movement. Gilbert's hips convulsed with disappointment, hopelessly seeking what was being denied.

“Now, sir,” Childermass said, laughter rich in his voice, his amusement taking the edge off Gilbert's neediness and making his face flush deep red. “I know, even if you don't at the moment, that you would be very vexed to... besmirch James White's _Hailing Time_.”

Cold horror filled Gilbert and his sat upright, hands flying down to gingerly pick up the book. Childermass had known what he was about, though, and while the spine was a little creased and it would forever thereafter automatically fall open to page 423, the pages were undamaged and dry. “Childermass, this is a very valuable book!” he scolded, but already he was losing the heart for it. Now that the panic had passed, his cock was making itself known to him again in a very insistent manner. He set the book aside carefully and looked up hopefully at Childermass.

“What's my name, master?” Childermass asked, voice heavy with meaning, leaning over now and bracing his hands firmly against Gilbert's wrists. He bore down on them with his weight, making Gilbert gasp a little in pain and delight. This was the moment, he knew, where the power passed from one to the other, where titles and social status fell away and they became something all together different. Where _he_ could be different.

Gilbert bit his lip, knowing how much it pleased him... “John, please,” he whispered, and caught one satisfied grin from his servant before Childermass had fallen to his knees and released him only to pluck nimbly at the buttons and fastenings of his breeches.

Gilbert sunk automatically in his seat, back slumping and legs spreading for better access. His wig caught on the back of his seat and skewed over his eyes and he hastily slid it back up, unwilling to miss a moment of Childermass' attentions.

His cock was out in a thrice, standing up straight and eager now that it was freed. It was purple around the head with need and his testicles were tight up against his body. “I am dismayed, Gilbert, by the state I find you in,” Childermass said with relish, making his name sound more erotic than it had any right to. “Your poor prick has not had so much as a finger upon him since I left, has he?”

Gilbert had shamefully taken himself in hand a few times, when thoughts of his beautiful servant riding across England had overcome him, but he knew what Childermass wanted to hear. “John,” he pleaded. “Please. It- it wanted you.”

Childermass reached out a dark, somewhat travel dirtied hand and grasped his prize. “My sweet little cock.” he said hungrily. “You needed me here to take care of you.”

Gilbert's agreement was swallowed up by what might have been a howl as Childermass leaned over his lap and swallowed him up whole, sucking him down as though it were his favorite mouthful. Gilbert was not large, and Childermass was very skilled; the head of his cock pushed against the back of his throat on every stroke, enveloping the whole length in unbearable warmth and pleasure. 

Childermass sucked hard and brutal, bobbing swiftly. Gilbert bowed off the chair, pressing what felt like his whole body into Childermass' mouth and saying the most horrible things, pleas and praises, as wanton as a harlot.

Childermass drew off, for the sole purpose, apparently, of torturing Gilbert. His hand clamped tight around the base of his cock and testicles and he pressed fierce, painful kisses and bites against Gilbert's abdomen. “Do you want to fuck my mouth, Gilbert? Do you want to spend down my throat?”

The crude words made him blush, but his body was writhing in an agony of ecstasy now, trying to push his prick against Childermass, to get even the smallest amount of friction needed to complete him. “Oh, god, please. John, please,” he whimpered obligingly, knowing what was wanted, and was rewarded with the return of the hot, clever mouth. Explosions seemed to go off in Gilbert's head as he was sucked back down and promptly lost. “John!” he cried, and it was over. He curled helplessly over Childermass' bobbing head, as shocks of pleasure broke in waves from his groin and outward. Childermass continued to cradle him on his tongue until Gilbert was twitching with oversensitivity and fretfully pushing him away.

Childermass' face was dark with lust and blood, and he rose gracefully from his crouch, his fingers already fumbling at the ties of his breeches. Through his fog of satisfaction Gilbert was pleased to see that Childermass was none too composed, for all that Gilbert had yet to even lay a hand on him. Childermass shoved his breeches down enough for his cock to spring free, and though he'd seen it many times before, it still was enough to make him gasp and tremble. Childermass was large and powerful, the hair at the base as swarthy and thick as that on his head and the skin stretched tight across his shaft and testicles was several shades darker than the rest of him. When Gilbert reached out a shaking hand, he could barely form a circle with his fingers around it. He'd been quite intimidated the first time he'd seen it, but now he gripped him with some measure of confidence.

Childermass sucked in a sharp breath and pushed further into Gilbert's space, bringing a knee up to wedge it by his leg and bring his prick into Gilbert's face. “Get it wet, Gilbert,” he commanded in a husky voice, his dark eyes intent on Gilbert's mouth, and he unconsciously darted out a tongue to moisten his lips. He couldn't fellate Childermass as skillfully as his servant could him, but he did what he could. He opened his mouth as far as he could and gingerly stretched it over the plump, glistening head. It was as far as he could go, but he used his tongue to caress the underside like Childermass had taught him and slid his hands up the shaft rhythmically. 

Childermass let out a deep, full throated groan above him that made Gilbert's flaccid cock give a twitch of sympathy. Childermass rocked his hips carefully, sliding the head a few centimeters into Gilbert's mouth before withdrawing and nudging back in. When Gilbert looked up from his work he flushed with pleasure to see how closely Childermass watched him, the heat in his eyes enough to burn Gilbert up. Satisfaction filled him and he put more effort into his fellation, sucked delicately on the head and squeezing more firmly with his hands.

“Hard, Gilbert,” Childermass growled, panting and bracing his hands against the back of the seat. Gilbert felt how tight his body was, how much he seemed to be restraining himself. He could feel the tension under his palms and hear Childermass' desperation in his heavy, ragged breathing. He was moaning with abandon now. Gilbert would have been concerned for the servants overhearing if his magical wards weren't so secure. Childermass could scream himself hoarse and no one would hear but him. Gilbert gave a little moan of his own and gripped tighter, much tighter than he would ever touch himself.

“Gilbert- oh- God-” Childermass' hand covered Gilbert's, crushing his fingers around the tight skin under his, and then, with a muffled shout, Childermass was spilling himself. A startling, bitter stream shot across his tongue before Childermass withdrew and pumped the rest out on his lips and chin and down his front. Gilbert just shook and closed his eyes as the hot semen struck and clung to his skin and clothing. He opened them, though, when Childermass crawled the rest of the way into his lap with his knees on either side of Gilbert's hips. 

Childermass' face and neck were splotchy with blood and his lips were shiny and wet from being bitten, but when he cradled Gilbert's head in his and tipped it back for a kiss Gilbert parted his lips eagerly. The semen slicked between their mouths, smearing over both of their faces and making the kiss taste unpleasant. Childermass was ravenous though, lips hungry and thumbs rubbing semen into his skin, and Gilbert was so overcome by lust he didn't even noticed when Childermass' attentions knocked his wig off.

Childermass kissed him until his own cock was beginning to stiffen again with interest and Gilbert began to squirm and tremble. “For heaven's sake, Childermass,” Gilbert said, trying to regain control of himself and recall his servant to his place. He got a sharp bite on his collarbone for his efforts that even through a layer of clothing made him yelp and buck up underneath Childermass. “J-John. Have pity. I'm not a boy. I-I can't, er, perform again so soon,” he pleaded, despite the way his prick was hardening already. Childermass had that effect on him.

Childermass pulled back with a grin like a wolf's. His face with smeared with his own seed and his hair was wild around his head. Gilbert could only imagine with deep chagrin how debauched he himself must look. “I can be merciful,” he said in a tone a voice which promised the exact opposite. He reached out a hand and thumbed at Gilbert's lip again. “Old man,” he teased, even though Gilbert was only thirty five and not even ten years Childermass' senior.

He pulled himself out of Gilbert's lap and tucked his now soft cock back into his underclothes. He ran a handkerchief over his face and swiped his fingers fruitlessly through his hair. “I have matters to attend to. I'll meet you in your rooms in an hour.”

“B-but! Wait, Childermass!” Gilbert squawked, a part of him fearing Childermass and the overwhelming lust he made him feel, and another part secretly longing for it.

Childermass just turned at the door and shot him a smirk that could have turned nuns away from their vows. “Take a long, hot bath, Gilbert, and think of me, and soon I shall be with you.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is so freakin' gratuitous and indecent I almost edited it to preserve Norrell's dignity. I mean, I almost kinda felt guilty for doing this to poor Norrell. But don't worry, he loves it. :D Anyway, I've read this so many times I can no longer tell if this is sexy or not, so hopefully it works.

John had not been misleading Norrell when he'd told him he had business to attend to. He'd done little more than knock the dirt off his boots and order a bath in his room before going up to his master, knowing Norrell would be anxiously waiting for him in the library. 

After leaving the library John went to his room to bathe the grime of travel and his own seed off his body before redressing in clean clothing and going down to the kitchen where he knew many of the staff would be waiting for him. He was obliged to entertain his fellows in service, as was expected, while wolfing down the dinner the cook had saved back for him, and it was a good deal more than an hour before he was able to draw himself away and make his way back to Norrell. His thoughts had been with him, though. He imagined Norrell scrubbing himself in his bath with equal parts dread and anticipation, waiting for him just as he had the two weeks he had been gone.

Norrell had not locked the door, and John took that as the tacit permission it was. He slid inside and directed his eyes immediately to the small figure on the bed. Norrell was huddled in his bed, stiff as a corpse and clutching a book like a shield. His night cap was pulled low on his forehead and John could see the edges of many layers of sleepwear pulled up high around his throat. He smirked as he locked the door behind him and smiled even wider when Norrell shot him a peevish frown to hide his obvious relief.

“You deigned to come, then?” he asked loftily and John imagined Norrell fretting in his room when one hour passed and he had yet to appear. John knew Norrell's fear and uncertainties troubled him when John was not at hand to remind him he was desirable, and no doubt the foolish man had spent the time convincing himself that John would not come and may never do so again.

“I was held up in the kitchen,” he said, hands already at his throat to undo the sloppy cravat he'd hastily tied after his bath. Norrell sniffed in irritation, but John noticed the way his eyes tracked him as he slid the cravat off and began to unbutton his shirt. He decided to make a game of it, because there was something about Norrell watching him that made his stomach feel fluttery with yearning. He slid the shirt off teasingly and rubbing his chest and nipples until they peaked. Norrell was holding the much abused _Hailing Time_ so tightly the pages seemed in danger of ripping, but he didn't seem to notice. His small blue eyes raptly followed John's fingers as he caressed his abdomen and then flew wide when John slid both hands over his crotch, where his half erect prick was making an obscene bulge in his tight breeches.

“You do this to me,” he reminded him, evidence of his desire for Norrell even his self doubting employer could not refute.

John laughed softly and walked over to the bed. He gently took the poor book from Norrell and laid it on the bedside table before lifting one of his limp hands and putting it to the buttons of his breeches. “Undress me,” he said and Norrell eagerly sat up to work on the fastenings. He was much slower than John would have been, but Norrell was not confident in sexual relations, and responded best when John gave him easily executed instructions. 

Norrell finally got the garment unfastened and, biting his lips, pushed the breeches down around John's thighs. Norrell was close enough that his soft exhalation ghosted over John's turgid flesh and John picked up his hand again and put it to his body.

It seemed so filthy, Norrell so pure and perfect swaddled in his night clothes and respectability while his hands were full of John's cock. Norrell's hands were as small and gently used as a girl's, and the deep color of his prick was dark against the smooth white hand. The sight made John's flesh rise rapidly and brought a smile of delight to Norrell's face sweet enough to make John feel palpitations in his chest that had nothing to do with sexual excitement.

He reached out and tenderly touched his lips instead. “You've the loveliest smile, Gilbert,” he said, which only made Norrell blush in confusion and withdraw from John, unused to compliments despite John's efforts. John mentally shrugged- one day Norrell would understand- and pushed his breeches and boots the rest of the way off so that he stood, entirely unclothed, for Norrell's perusal.

“Oh!” Norrell said faintly and fell back against the pillows as though overcome by the sight.

“Do I please you then, sir?” 

Norrell's hands fluttered nervously on the sheets. “I- oh, you know you do, why ask me?” His tone was impatient, but he eyes were hungry. There was something about that look, that desire. John had had other lovers, younger and more beautiful, and all certainly more experienced, but no one looked at him like Norrell did, as though all the things he'd ever desired could be found in one person. 

John laughed indulgently at Norrell's agitation and reached out to pluck the night cap off his head. Norrell's hair was short and warm brown and quite curly. John found it rather pleasing, but Norrell would insist on covering it up with old fashioned wigs and hats.

“Why did you put so many clothes on? You knew I was coming; you might have saved me the trouble.” Norrell wore more clothes to sleep than many men wore to Church, but Norrell only spluttered at the suggestion he might have waited for John in his room without clothing. John pulled the blankets out from where Norrell had tucked them around himself and begin to work on Norrell's clothing as efficiently as he might undress a child. 

Norrell _was_ a little childish, John thought. Virginal and shy, somehow, even though John had taken his master's virginity himself more than three years prior. His body was small and smooth, and finely haired. He was slimly built, but days spent in his library with little exercise had left him rounded and a little curvy, with a soft belly and a fleshy backside. His prick was petite, barely a handful, and John loved the way it tucked into his mouth neatly or was swallowed up entirely by his big fist.

When John had him bared at last and the man was rigid with discomfort on the sheets as he fought not to cover himself with his hands, John smiled fondly down at him.

“Little lad,” he purred, making Norrell draw a leg up defensively over his half hard prick and glare at him, clearly suspecting condescension. “None of that now, Gilbert,” John chided, sitting down beside him and putting a hand on Norrell's knee and pressing down and out, opening his thighs up. John stroked his fingers down from his knees and let them dance lightly over the smooth, plush skin of his inner thigh. He could feel Norrell's muscles twitching under his fingers and his belly rippled with the increasing rate of his breathing. “I want to see my little lad,” he murmured, and drug his fingers through the pale ginger pubic hair at the base of Norrell's cock, making the head of his prick swell and timidly begin to peek out from the foreskin. Norrell gave a small, quickly suppressed moan that was more delightful to John than the singing of angels.

“Look at you. Gorgeous, you are,” he murmured, and meant it, even though he knew no other saw Norrell as John did. Norrell gulped and looked up at him longingly, wanting to be admired and touched, and unable to bring himself to ask for it; barely able to even let himself _want_ it.

"Sweet little lad,” he continued, his eyes caressing Norrell's vulnerable, wanting face. “I thought about you, while I was away. I thought about you in your library, as chaste as a monk, going to waste, and wished I was there to kiss you.” He leaned over and brushed soft kisses over Norrel's mouth. “To touch you. To fuck you,” he said darkly, and ground his teeth against Norrell's mouth until Norrell was forced to open his lips and let John's tongue stopper up his startled breath. 

“I want to peel you open and fuck you, Gilbert,” John said lewdly when he pulled away, meaning to shock and titillate. “I want to ride your sweet little arse until you cry with it, and then I want to coat your guts with my seed until it runs down your legs.” 

Norrell's eyes all but rolled back in his head. “John, for God's sake!” he said in outrage, but his breath was coming in jerking little gasps and his hands were fidgeting against his skin, touching John in small fluttering strokes that seemed to long to pull him closer. John rolled over onto his master, bracing his weight on his knees but laying his torso down over his so their groins crashed together, making them both grunt. 

“You knew you had it coming,” he growled into his ear while he pumped his hips against Norrell and made the older man squeak like a captured mouse. “I'd wager you sat in your library and thought about my cock splitting you open. Should we try that next time, Gilbert? I'll bend you over your desk and make you scream and no one will hear you. No one will come to help you.” 

Norrell had been so overcome by John's words that he'd quite lost his reticence. He wrapped his legs around John's waist and clung to his back with hard, gripping fingers. “Yes, yes,” he said. “John, please. You know where the- um-” 

Norrell couldn't bring himself to say 'oil' in this particular context, so John just gasped a laugh and pried himself out of Norrell's grip long enough to reach a long arm out and shuffle through the bedside table until he found the little bottle of oil he himself had planted there. He uncorked it and carefully spread some on his fingers. 

Norrell readily lifted his knees to expose himself, but John just tugged him over and onto his knees so his arse was in the air. “Hold onto the headboard, Gilbert,” he warned and Norrell did so, pressing back and quivering with anticipation. 

“What are you doing, John?” he asked in a tremulous voice that hinted at all the things he wanted, and would never ask for. 

He gave a startled shout when John's lips and tongue brushed against his hole. 

"John!” Norrell gasped, always so appalled when John used his mouth on him, as though this were a thing so obscene it was beyond words. “John, no,” he murmured perfunctorily, but keened and pressed back against his mouth when John was unrelenting. 

“I can't help it, little lad. You are so sweet,” he growled and brought his oil slicked hand up to fondle Norrell's prick while his mouth and tongue plundered his arsehole. Soon Norrell had buried his face in his pillow to stifle his groans and John had added his fingers, pushing into Norrell. By the time John was satisfied that Norrell was prepared sufficiently the smaller man was curled into a miserable little huddle while his cock dripped fluid onto the bed sheets. 

John smirked and reached down again to caress Norrell's needy prick. “Do you think you are ready for me, Gilbert?” 

Norrell let out a long, frustrated noise. “ _Yes._ ” he snarled, and John laughed. 

“Are you sure? I am quite large and your arsehole is very small.” 

Norrell slammed a fist against the mattress. “Damn you! Don't tease me.” 

John was so delighted by the small oath that he fell on the bed beside Norrell and generously smoothed more oil onto his prick without further protest. “Come here. I want to see you,” he said, and Norrell looked up at him with large, wary eyes at the thought of being so closely observed. He reached out a hand and encouraged him over until Norrell had grudgingly settled himself down on John's thighs. Seeing he was still going to have to do a great deal of the work, he reached under Norrell and held his cock up until the head brushed and caught against the rim of Norrell's hole. 

“Bear down,” he said breathlessly and Norrell obediently lowered himself gingerly, his body slowly swallowing up John's length until he was sitting astride his hips and biting his lip to keep from crying out. “Fuck,” John groaned, not to shock Norrell but because his tight heat was so overwhelmingly good orgasm seemed imminent, despite the evening's previous release. 

Norrell whimpered and leaned down over John so he could brace himself on the mattress on either side of John's shoulders. “John,” he said urgently, begging for John to take care of him, to make him feel good as only John could. 

No one knew what they were missing. 

John brought his hands up to Norrell's hips and encouraged him to rock back onto his cock. John set the pace and Norrell moved with him, his body swaying as John repeatedly filled him. John knew it must hurt a little; no one could take a prick his size without some discomfort, but Norrell's face was set in defenseless gratification, his mouth parted and every indrawn breath a helpless moan. 

It made John _wild_ for him. He grasped Norrell's hips and rolled him over onto his back. They both hissed at the loss of sensation when his cock slipped free but John was on him in a moment and Norrell was spreading his legs and pushing up without need for instruction, his body's needs finally conquering his brain. John tucked his cock against Norrell's hole and pushed and Norrell's body readily accepted him. 

"Yes, Gilbert, fuck,” he groaned as he pumped his hips and filled his master, fucking hard and desperate now. Norrell wrapped his legs loosely around John's waist and his small hands grabbed fistfuls of flesh on John's back. 

His orgasm began to build. “Talk to me, Gilbert,” he begged, because John loved to hear his master's voice wrecked by pleasure more than any other noise in this world. 

Norrell, wide eyed, licked his lips and blushed. “I- um. Yes. J-John. You m-make me feel- oh!” His voice tapered off into a guttural groan when John began to grind into him roughly, with purpose. “So good, God, John, so good. Better than I ever thought possible.” 

"Oh, fuck,” he muttered, Norrell's words making him feel like he'd swallowed the sun, and hitched one of Norrell's legs up. 

"John, my god,” Norrell squawked as the new position seemed to strike something inside him at the perfect angle. His toes, somewhere around John's ear, curled and he began to cry out in that unreserved way that only a good fucking could wring from him. It made John feel savage. 

“Gilbert!” he gritted out and thrust into him viciously, grunting and heaving like an animal through the last of his strokes. Norrell clung to him for dear life and whined, and when John stiffened and dropped down to shout into his shoulder Norrell turned his head and kissed everything he could reach, John's temple and hair and eyelids. John shook and strained into Norrell's body, his whole body lighting up with pleasure that was all centered on _Gilbert_. 

Gradually he came back to himself and he could feel Norrell's tender little prick, still hard and probably aching, pressed against his stomach, and decided to reward him for his exemplary behavior. 

With a groan of exhaustion John drew back until his half hard prick slid from Norrell's body. Norrell squirmed and reached up to touch himself before remembering himself and laying his hands instead on his belly, though his fingers did sneak closer so the tips brushed against the base. He must be very desperate, John thought with a deep feeling of satisfaction. 

“None of that, my lad,” he growled, and batted away Norrell's hands. “I've got something better for you.” He leaned over Norrell to grab the discarded oil then drizzled a few drops over Norrell's cock. Norrell smiled happily and made some wordless noises of anticipation, but his eyes flew wide and his mouth fell open when John fell back and hooked his elbows under his knees to open himself up for Norrell. 

“I want you inside me,” he invited, and though it was plain Norrell wasn't entirely comfortable taking the lead, the temptation was clearly too much for him to ignore. Norrell climbed up between John's legs and doubtfully touched John's arsehole. 

"Won't I hurt you?” he asked, because John had always made him put his fingers in him to stretch him out before. But his body was loose and relaxed from orgasm and he knew Norrell would be no great stretch, so he shook his head. 

“No, I want it now,” he said, injecting a hint of an order, which got Norrell moving. The smaller man grasped his cock between two fingers and snugged up close enough to John to press the head against him. He glanced up one more time, for reassurance or permission, and then slowly pushed in. John felt a burning sort of discomfort, but Norrell's little hiccup of pleasure made it more than worth it. 

Norrel clung to his knees, bracing his weight against them, and did what came naturally, even to bookish scholars. John watched, rapt, as Norrell's face screwed up in concentration and his body moved, rolling and pushing up into John's body over and over. 

“Now that's nice,” John said in that deep, rumbly tone that made Norrell tremble and crack open an eye to look at him. “Your cock feels like it belongs there, doesn't it, Gilbert?” 

“John I- I'm s-so, almost,” Norrell was babbling, too far gone to complete a sentence and too caught up in his own need to be self conscious. He had curled up like a hedgehog around John, his whole body drawing up in readiness for a release he seemed to struggle with. “I just- I can't- Please, I- John, please-” 

Norrell was squeezing his knees hard enough to leave bruises and his face was turning red with effort. John took pity on him, knowing expecting two orgasms of Norrell in one night after a long absence had been unusually demanding. 

“Get on your heels,” he ordered, his voice suggesting he'd accept no arguments, a tone Norrell found easy to follow. Norrell scrambled to obey, even though he had to lean on John's legs to keep his balance as he hovered awkwardly on the soft mattress. John crunched his body tightly, gripping the backs of his knees and tilting his hips up so his arse was right under Norrell. “Now fuck me, Gilbert.” 

“Yes,” Norrell almost wept and crouched down over John, his new position giving him the freedom of movement necessary to get the speed he needed to push him over the edge. John could see how much his hands shook as he guided his cock into John, but they both groaned when he sunk back in. Their skin slapped together and the bed rocked as Norrell drove his cock into him frantically. His prick felt good now, teasing at John's sensitive prostate and making his groin feel warm and expectant, even though another release was an impossibility. 

John could fell Norrell trembling, knew he was nearing the end of his energy. 

"Yes, please, Gilbert. Like that. You're so beautiful, I could watch you all night,” John encouraged and Norrell groaned long and low. “I only think of you, you are everything I do, it's all for you-” 

John felt his master's short fingernails digging into his skin for only a moment before Norrell was bowing his head weakly and sobbing out his release. The convulsing of his body and his last few powerful thrusts made the bed frame creak alarmingly before Norrell finally slumped against John. His whole body shook and his face was covered in a sheen of sweat and he looked moments away from collapse. 

John uncurled and reached up to catch his master, pulling him down to cradle his limp body against his chest. He wrapped his arms gently around Norrell's shoulders, caressing as his breaths went from ragged whoops to whimpers. John nuzzled his neck and stroked his quivering sides. 

John knew that he would not be suffered to stay long now that he'd brought his master to satisfaction, but he savored the closeness and the sound of Norrell's hitching, labored breathing. When he was no longer afraid Norrell might suffocate he pressed soft, aimless kisses against Norrell's jaw and mouth until Norrell fretfully untangled their limbs and rolled away from John. 

“I'm exhausted, Childermass,” he croaked, and John chuckled. 

“Childermass again, am I?” he asked, but not with rancor. This was the way things were between them, and John had come to accept it for what it was and tried not to want more. Norrell would be a very poor custodian of a heart, he knew; he barely took care of his own. 

Norrell looked over at him with a frown of consternation and John sighed and folded his hands over his flat stomach. “I'll just see myself out then, shall I, sir?” he asked ironically and Norrell had the grace to blush. He didn't say anything, though, until John had pulled on his clothing and rearranged his hair in the little mirror above Norrell's bedside table, though nothing could be done for his swollen lips and mottled, flushed skin. 

“You won't forget to take the bed sheets in the morning, will you Childermass? I won't have gossip among the maids.” His voice was brisk to cover his embarrassment and he'd pulled the blankets up to his shoulders to cover his nudity. He looked like a awkward child peering over at him and it filled John with a tenderness he was sure his master didn't deserve. 

“Have I ever forgotten?” he asked, but leaned over the bedside table and caught Norrell in a parting kiss that was over too quickly for Norrell to protest. “Sleep well, sir,” he said, and let himself out of the room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm considering one more part to this. I think this universe's Childermass and Norrell have a LOT of unresolved issues that need to be seen to.


	3. Chapter 3

Gilbert was awoken the next morning to fresh tasting kisses and someone toying with his night cap. It was a very pleasant way to awaken, and he blinked and smiled sleepily up at Childermass for a few blissful moments before he remembered why his servant was there. He'd come to carry away the leavings of their shameful behavior the night before and to gloat over Gilbert's utter loss of dignity, no doubt, insolent fellow that he was.

He turned away grumpily and found that while the area around his groin felt somehow deeply satisfied and warm, his arse was another matter entirely and the muscles in his back and legs were stiff and painful from the strenuous physical activity. 

Childermass had chased him across the bed and was laughing intimately into Gilbert's ear, even as Gilbert buried himself deeper in the blankets and tried to tell himself his servant was obnoxious and not the least bit endearing. “You wanted me to remove the evidence, sir,” Childermass said. “I'd whisk them away while you slept, like a fairy stealing away a baby, but you haven't taught me that spell yet.”

Gilbert growled, feeling ill used and unreasonably annoyed by the joke. “Don't speak to me of fairies!” he snapped and wrestled an arm out of the blankets to shove at Childermass' chest. “And I certainly would never teach you such a spell.”

Childermass withdrew and was quiet long enough Gilbert began to wonder if he would speak at all. 

“Of course you wouldn't,” Childermass said in a tone of voice that was flat and difficult to interpret. “Well, I'll just leave them, shall I? It wouldn't be anything our Martha won't have seen before, though I feel compelled to remind you you've almost certainly expelled a fair amount of the spunk I left in your arse while you slept. Sir.”

That had Gilbert thrashing out of the bed in a towering, mortified temper. His muscles ached and Childermass hadn't been teasing- his thighs and backside felt sticky and crusty with dried fluids and oil. “And what does _that_ mean, then? Have you been- been- Have you had sexual relations with _Martha_?” 

Childermass stared at him, his expression caught between puzzlement and annoyance. “Of course I haven't,” he said, his tone of voice displeased and impatient, as though speaking to an ill tempered child. 

Gilbert huffed and defensively drew his layers of bed clothing around him. “You needn't take that tone with me. It wasn't an unreasonable assumption. As if I don't know you spread your seed across half the kingdom.” It was a bit of a sore point, imagining the conquests Childermass must leave in his wake every time Gilbert sent him from Hurtfew Abbey. Sometimes it kept him up at night, full of jealousy and disgust at his own weakness for caring.

His servant was actively glaring now. “I have, have I? And bring the pox back home to you? Why, how little you think of me.”

“The _pox_?” he squawked in horror, as though he'd never heard the word. And yet, it was a thing so far outside his realm of experience in truth it had never occurred to him to be a possibility.

Childermass sneered. “Of course. Were you never concerned, sir, that while I was out fucking my way through the populace I might give you something other than a book?” He scoffed angrily enough to make Gilbert flinch. “As if I've ever done anything that might harm you.” 

When Gilbert didn't reply he began to tear the sheets off the bed with enough force that Gilbert heard a ripping noise, but Childermass appeared to have nothing else to add to the conversation. He bundled the sheets in his arm and left the room with his jaw set and his face as dark as a thunderstorm.

Gilbert was forced to make up his own bed with the bed dressings Chidermass had left behind, a thing that did little to improve his temper. He was conscious of having apparently judged Childermass poorly, and the guilt of having caused unjustified offense did not sit gracefully with him. Any other man might have apologized and been done with it, but Gilbert was a man who had spent a lifetime thinking only of himself and disregarding the feelings and comforts of those around him. His guilt began to turn to anger at Childermass for putting him in the position, and by the time he encountered his servant later that day he was miserable with it.

Childermass came into the library silently, not sparing Gilbert a glance, and went to the desk he kept by the window facing the drive. He sat down and pulled a stack of letters from his pocket and began to shuffle through them, keeping his stiff back to Gilbert. He was being punished, then.

“Childermass. I think we should cease to-” he never really knew what to call what happened between he and Childermass. He did not have the ability to casually speak of fornication the way his servant did. “Be intimate,” he finished weakly.

Childermass turned in his chair to gaze narrowly at Gilbert. “I do not have other lovers, Mr. Norrell,” Childermass said through gritted teeth, “If I did not make myself plain. Though certainly not for lack of opportunity!”

His tone suggested he'd been making great personal sacrifices on Gilbert's behalf and he bristled, but all that did was make pangs of discomfort shoot from his arse and up his spine. 

“That isn't why,” he cried. “This has just- gone on far too long. It's a distraction and it's immoral and- I mean really! A man of my standing and age.” 

Childermass lifted an eyebrow, but his air of nonchalance did not hide the ferocity that Gilbert could sense simmering beneath the surface. “I dare say respectable men like a good fucking as much as common men. And you're hardly in your dotage, sir.”

Gilbert let out a sound like a scalded cat, as outraged as an old maid. “Childermass!” he cried furiously. “Perhaps it would be different if you were a gentleman,” he sniped back, intending to hurt now. “But you are a servant and you are nothing to me.”

He wanted to take it back almost as soon as he'd said it, because even in his anger he knew it wasn't true. Childermass was the only person he'd ever wanted, the only one he'd ever trusted. His only friend. 

Childermass did not give him a chance to soften his words. His face was a mask of wrath and when he stood up from his seat Gilbert shrank back in fear. He'd never seen Childermass more angry, and they'd frequently fought in the five years he'd been in Gilbert's service.

Childermass stared down his nose at his master coldly. “If I no longer satisfy you, _sir,_ then there is no reason for me to stay.” 

And with that he strode from the library, despite Gilbert's shouts for his immediate return, and left Hurtfew Abbey. 

**

Indignation carried Gilbert through the first few days of Childermass' absence, but by the third day he'd sunk into a depression so deep there seemed no digging himself out of it. It wasn't the loss of intimacy alone, but the abandonment that cut him. Hurtfew Abbey, which he'd prized for its isolation, now seemed desolate and unbearably lonely. Without Childermass as a go between Gilbert was forced to realize that he was all but a stranger to even those that served him and none in his neighborhood viewed him as anything more than a curiosity. 

The understanding came upon him that without Childermass he was alone in the world. Even his books were little comfort to him without an intelligent friend to share his discoveries. He began to nostalgically idle at Childermass' desk so he could watch the road leading up to Hurtfew Abbey, in anticipation of his possible return, and was rewarded a week later to see a dark, hooded figure on horseback ride up to the house and disappear into the stables. 

Feeling as though his heart were in his throat, Gilbert hurried out of the library and scampered up the stairs for Childermass' attic bedroom, fearing his servant may have only returned to retrieve his possessions.

Childermass' room was small and scantily furnished and not an area of his household he'd ever spent much time in, aside from a memorable intimate interlude or two. He'd always found it lacking in comfort though and never chose the room unless it was closest to hand, but now he sat down on the narrow bed and waited nervously, his hands twisting in his lap. 

He did not have to wait long before the door knob turned and Childermass entered, the only sign of his surprise a very small lifting of his eyebrows. His man of business closed the door behind him and leaned against it, regarding his master steadily, seemingly unlikely to break the silence on his own.

“Are you leaving?” he asked, the first thing to come to his mind, and cringed inwardly to hear how needy he sounded. He couldn't take it back, though.

Childermass sighed and dropped the satchel he had slung over his shoulder. He crossed his arms and leaned back against the door, regarding Gilbert. “The cards say no.”

The cards of Marseilles! It was a branch of magic Gilbert had always found terribly unreliable and overly mystical, even while Childermass had always favored fortune telling. Disreputable magic! But now they seemed to have turned in his favor, and it seemed churlish to express his disapproval. “O-oh?” he asked, standing and drawing a tentative step nearer. “What did the cards say?”

Childermass sighed and rolled his eyes in that _way_ of his. No one could show bald faced disrespect like Childermass and still make it look so attractive. “The same they have always said. You are my future, Gilbert.” Childermass' gaze was hard and challenging, not softened with affection as it usually was when he used his Christian name. “We are not done with each other yet.”

“But I do not wish to be!” he cried, heartfelt and impassioned. “I've been- oh, most distraught to think you may not return. I do no wish for you to leave me.”

Childermass sneered at him and wove around him to deposit his travel worn cloak into the narrow dresser in the corner. “I suppose my position is one you would have had difficulty replacing,” he allows, his voice still holding the bite of resentment. “Still, clever fellows are to be found.”

“I didn't mean like that,” Gilbert said in a small voice. Childermass' hand stilled on his cloak, though he did not turn. “I have been very... alone this week.”

Childermass unfroze enough to withdraw the cloak. “You like to be alone.” His voice was a little different now, softer and less certain.

Gilbert swallowed hard and felt a little ill. He didn't speak about such things! Never in his life had he been called upon to expose himself so. “I thought so too. Only... it seems as though... when you are not here being alone is not so much a solace as it is... empty.”

Finally, Childermass turned. “I know what you want from me. You want me to do all the things you do not wish to do yourself, even when I disagree with them, and then you want me to take care of you, to see to your every comfort and desire, and you wish to give me nothing in return.”

Gilbert stared at him in shock. Childermass' desires were as opaque to him as wood. “What do you want?”

“You know what I want! It's what I've always wanted, and what you've given me in scraps to pacify me for years, just enough to keep me but never enough to make me dangerous. Magic, Gilbert. I want you to teach me magic.” Childermass must have seen something in his expression for he turned away bitterly and paced to the window, lifting a hand and holding the sill hard, as though gripping the bars of a prison. “I suppose I needn't bother asking for your heart, either, for you're as miserly with that as you are your books.”

“What am I to you, then?” Gilbert asked coldly, terrible suspicions rising in his mind. “Magic or love, or is one dependent on the other?”

Childermass threw him a look of such disgust and betrayal that it filled Gilbert with unexpected shame. “Why is it that you may love both me and magic and yet I may not do the same?”

Love! Childermass thought Gilbert loved him? “You are my servant,” he bleated, his last and only defense. His heart was fluttering wildly and a very strong part of him longed to throw himself at Childermass, but he'd spent thirty five years ignoring his heart and hoarding his magic, and a lifetime of protective instincts were not overthrown in a moment. 

Childermass turned his head away sharply, and Gilbert could no longer see his expression but he could read the defeat in the slump of his shoulders. 

“Childermass, will you leave?”

It took Childermass a long time to reply and when he did his voice was heavy and bleak. “I cannot. My future is here.”

The cards. The cards! His faith in the cards kept him captive here. Things could go on as they were- or almost. As they should have always been, with no intimacy and nothing between them that was not professional and respectable. It was what he'd wanted.

And yet he found himself drawing a step nearer, and then another, until he'd crossed the small room and stood behind Childermass' powerful and yet somehow vulnerable form. It was almost as though it were someone else's hand that lifted and hesitantly laid itself on Childermass' shoulder. 

“John?” he asked softly, and when Childermass did not seem eager to move he very, very carefully slipped an arm around his waist. This brought Gilbert's chest up against his back and his hesitation was very brief before he laid his cheek on Childermass' shoulder. “John?”

Childermass turned then, his mouth set but something soft and young and hopeful in his eyes that Gilbert had never seen before. For all that Gilbert was Childermass' senior, the latter had always seemed so much stronger and more capable, so full of life. He took care of Gilbert, and had since he was little more than the boy Gilbert had hired, fresh off a ship and half starved but with eyes blazing with intelligence. It seemed impossible to believe that such a creature could care for him, and yet he found himself helplessly yearning that it might be so.

Gilbert drew Childermass back and down onto the hard, unrelenting bed. He didn't speak, merely looked at Gilbert. Waiting for him. 

Gilbert took a deep breath and then reached out and held Childermass' hand. It was calloused and hard and so familiar against his skin. “This is the first spell that I ever learned.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N I realize this was a fairly self indulgent exercise in writing, but it satisfied a lot of the dissatisfaction I had with the book- much though I loved it. It began with the porn -and it's still the focus of the story, let's be honest- but as I wrote I began to wonder how things might have been different if earlier in their time together Childermass and Norrell had fallen in love. What if Norrell _didn't_ hide his heart in a dark wood under snow and feel its ache? What if Childermass kept it nice and warm and pampered instead? How might things have been different? With Childermass by his side as both lover and apprentice, I choose to believe that magic might be returned to England with quite a bit less death, kidnappings and pillars of darkness. (except possibly Lady Pole, who'd probably die and stay dead in this particular universe) That's how I choose to believe it, anyway!

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback would be SO appreciated!


End file.
